Preparing for the End
by toasty2
Summary: An AU fic starting S2E8 - Mr. Ferguson is Ill Today and extending well into the future war through sequels. Jameron.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This fic alters much of Season 2, beginning around the end of Season 2 episode 8 (Mr. Ferguson is Ill Today). There may be small alterations to the past. Very few of the following events will be repeated as in the show. In other words, this goes majorly AU. There will be Jameron. The story will be divided into two or three parts, extending well into the future war with Skynet (in the sequel). I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I have while writing it. There will be occasional profanity and gore. Thanks to Kaotic and M1919 for beta-reading.

* * *

**Beginning on November 2, 2008 - "Día de los Muertos"**

**(Day of the Dead Celebration) - in Mexico:**

John stood staring below at the body of Cromartie. An overwhelming feeling came over him: the simple fact that Cromartie was dead or deactivated - whatever. The gaping hole in his head was something; it was a relief, but it was also a reminder of what it took. Their weak weapons fire from their MP5s and such served only as a distraction, more or less just scratching the thing thanks to its dense hyper-alloy. It was that one hole in his head, a shot from Derek's sniper rifle, that rendered Cromartie inactive. Only now did John realize that his shoulder finally hurt from shooting that damn 25 pound rifle, something more accurately described as a cannon.

"John," Derek said to grab his attention.

"Huh?"

"Keep digging."

John nodded slightly and began giving his muscles more excuses to ache as they deepened the hole. The Mexican sun reflected off the sand-dirt mixture all around. Everyone but Cameron was sweating heavily.

As they finished the hole and Cameron effortlessly lowered Cromartie, Sarah spoke. "You think there's any more of them out there?"

"I don't know," Cameron said. "It's possible."

They covered him in thermite and lit a flare, creating a molten pool of coltan and other materials where Cromartie lay. The stench of smoldering flesh and hair filled the air, and everyone did their best to breath minimally. Once cooked into the earth, they began covering the hole with previously displaced dirt.

Sarah spotted Ellison approaching. "I thought you left," she dryly told him.

His face was drawn into solemn seriousness, only distracted slightly by the foul odor. "We have a problem. The girl...Riley."

"What about her?"

"She's dead."

Everyone else turned away from their task of filling in the hole and faced Ellison. They all anxiously followed him to her body in an alley a block away in town. John's face was covered in sad surprise. She lay heaped face-forward into the ground, on bloodied sand. There was a near perfect grouping of two shots in her back where the heart should be.

"Metal bastard shot her as she fled," Derek commented, adding cynically, "two shots for good measure."

A few moments of staring ensued. Sarah spoke while eying the bystanders that were springing up, "We gotta get out of here."

"We can't just leave her here," Ellison protested.

"You really want to stick around and be attached to this? It's better if you were never here."

Ellison sighingly conceded. "Right."

"You didn't come to check out John. You weren't in Mexico. Can you pull that off?"

"Yes, I suppose so."

"Come on," Sarah told them all. John reluctantly moved away from the body. He stopped a moment to close her eyelids. With mixed emotions, they all left the small town of Déjalo.

* * *

**An hour earlier:**

Riley Dawson paced hurriedly down the alley. Nearing the end and not far away from the bus stop, she came face to face with Cromartie as he walked around the Corner. Terrified, Riley turned around instantly and ran as fast as her feet could take her. She knew it was stupid to run back toward the Connors, but what was she to do? Cromartie regarded her emotionlessly. He pulled his glock up to the ready. The only human reaction he let out were two blinks as his infiltrator programming dictated when he fired two well-aimed shots. He didn't want her going and warning the Connors, not that it would help them much anyway. Riley slumped forward, losing her balance as she bled out profusely into the dirt. Her eyes stayed glazed open looking in the direction of the Connors as her world faded to black.

* * *

Back in Los Angeles John lay on his bed, dejected. He analyzed much of his time around Riley. His thoughts were interrupted by Cameron as she walked into his room.

"Come to say 'I told you so'?" he asked sarcastically.

"No."

"Why not? You were right. I brought danger into her life. Hell, I brought death."

Despite the rhetorical nature of his question, she explained anyway, "I would gain nothing by reinforcing something that is no longer relevant."

She continued, "I came to say I'm sorry for your loss."

"I don't even know what I lost. I barely knew her...She barely knew me."

"Shouldn't that make it easier?" Cameron asked.

"I don't know."

* * *

Walking out of the elevator and across the floor to his office, James Ellison was stopped. He felt a chill as fear gripped him, however he managed to hide it.

"Ellison, have you seen this?" his co-worker asked.

"What?"

"Mexican police have a shootout involving your guys."

"The Connors."

"Yeah. No pictures..." Ellison sighed inwardly - relieved since any would likely include himself as well. "But they're pretty certain it was them."

"Huh." Ellison said with faked surprise, covering his amusement and involvement. "They just never seem to die."

"A witness also described your murder suspects - a John Doe and George Laszlo, but surely that can't be."

"That's impossible," Ellison stated, unintentionally thinking back to the moment where Cromartie lay disabled.

"Anyway, boss is giving you the lead on this," the coworker said while passing a file his way.

Now sitting in his office, Ellison looked up at the ceiling and sighed. He was in it deep with the Connors, those he once labeled crazy. More and more he wondered if he himself were going crazy.

* * *

Taking a break from all the Connors' recent troubles, Derek went to see his girlfriend. A knock on her door later and they were engrossed in each other's grasp, passionately sucking each other's faces off. A brief time later, after the festivities, they lay on Jesse's bed.

Noticing that Derek was staring off into space, the Australian inquired, "What's wrong? You seem distracted."

After a sigh, Derek turned to her and explained. "I was just thinking..."

"About what?"

"It's terrible. Yesterday John's girlfriend died."

She tried to respond but faltered as the news caught her off guard.

Derek took notice. "What's wrong? You're as pale as a ghost."

"How...how'd she die? Was it the metal?...Cameron?"

"It was Cromartie. Jesse, there's something you're not telling me."

After a few moments as it sank in, she fell apart. "The metal...now Connor's going to spend the rest of his life with that thing."

"What?" Derek asked, confused.

"We have to kill her, Derek. We can't let him get with that - thing!"

"Jesse, what the HELL are you talking about?"

"I tried. I tried to keep him away, but with her gone we'll have to take care of her ourselves."

"Are you insane, Jesse? She's the only thing we have to fight other metal."

Jesse was enveloped in tears. "Derek..."

"Jesse, you've gone fucking insane. You're not the Jesse I knew."

Shaking her head, she wallowed in further sobbing.

"This is way worse than AWOL, Jesse" Derek said as he put his pants back on, preparing to leave as he was pissed.

"It has to be done," she pleaded.

"No."

"I'll do it without you!" she threatened.

"You really mean that, don't you?" he asked rhetorically, overwhelmingly confused how the person he thought he knew could be so extreme and illogical.

"Yes," she said between tears.

He pulled his Beretta from the nightstand as he put his shoes back on. He knew how determined Jesse could be.

Sighing and closing his eyes at what had to be done, he pointed the gun to her head only several feet away.

"Please...Derek...you can't."

Derek wanted to say 'I love you' but he couldn't find the strength to voice it. With a final please, he pulled the trigger, gluing his eyes shut to avoid seeing the explosion of brain matter and blood spatter. He only opened his eyes once he had turned around and reached the door, averting his gaze from all but the exit.

* * *

Cameron was alerted to John's presence as he walked towards her room. She placed her current task of cleaning weapons aside and looked at him.

She invited him past the doorway where he stood. "Come in."

John sat on the bed next to her. After a few moments, John finally opened his mouth. "About the other night...You said in the future we talk a lot."

"Yes."

"About what?"

"Anything. Everything," she said in her usual minimalist and often cryptic fashion.

"I was thinking, and I've realized something...You're the only friend I have."

She let out a small but contagious smile. "As are you."

"I guess what I'm saying is we should be more...friendly."

She tilted her head slightly.

"Oh don't give me that. I saw your face whenever I was around Riley."

"I didn't like her."

"Yeah. Well, now I guess it's just you and me."

Smiling slightly, she repeated what he said. "Yes. Just you and me."

"Speaking of friendly, I'm sorry if I wasn't exactly the nicest to you before."

"You're forgiven," she said as if it were nothing.

"What I did the other day was stupid. You were right."

"Humans do stupid things," she replied purposely with a neutral voice.

Hearing the line he said previously repeated back to him, he chuckled.

As the conversation died down, John was overcome with her beauty. Her focus had remained entirely toward him a majority of the time. It made the moment very intense. They were sitting fairly close, and he'd love nothing more than to kiss her. Reluctantly and with great difficulty, John broke the trance.

"I'm uh going to bed. Good night."

"Good night." She watched him until he was out of the room.

* * *

The next day, an intern knocked on Ellison's office door.

"Come in." Noticing the file in the intern's hands, he asked, "what've you got for me?"

The intern handed him the file. "LAPD flagged this case for you, Agent Ellison."

"Why?"

"Ballistics matched one of your priors."

"The Andrew Goode murder," Ellison said while glancing through the first page. Photos on following pages depicted a rather ugly crime scene of an execution in a hotel room.

Left alone in his office and with another mess from the Connors, Ellison sighed. "I hope there was a good reason," he prayed and thought to himself.

* * *

Derek Reese stalked into the Connor home. His first destination was the refrigerator where he grabbed the entire six pack and walked out the back door. Sitting on the back steps and while on his third beer, Sarah came around. She matched his gaze into the distance where the sun had almost fully set.

"Bad day?" she asked him.

After a long swig of his beer, he offered her one. He remained staring ahead in silence.

* * *

John awoke the next day as the sun shined on his face through the window. A short while later, showered and dressed, he walked downstairs and found his mother cooking breakfast. As she saw him she poured more batter on the griddle. He poured some coffee for himself and sat down.

"Good morning, sleepyhead."

He ignored what she called him. "Morning, mom."

With his average response, she inquired with concern, "are you all right?"

"Yeah, I'm good, mom."

"I mean with this whole Riley thing. You know you can talk to me."

"I know, mom. I'll be okay, really."

Sarah placed some ready pancakes on his plate. With an iron stomach, John dug in, devoid of excitement to her cooking. Man must eat...

After awhile, Sarah asked John, "do you know what's bothering Derek?"

"No. Why?"

"He wouldn't tell me. He came in last night and got himself drunk. He's still asleep in the basement."

John let out a 'huh'. He didn't figure Derek for that type of a person. He decided he'd check it out.

* * *

Ellison went through the motions. He had a LAPD detective show him the scene to keep up appearances. Thankfully the body was gone, but you could tell the bleeding and tissue run-off had been extensive. Headshots were almost always a nasty affair if the shooter had any sense of firepower.

"So, you can see the victim likely knew her killer, given how close and clean it was," the detective told him, acting as if the crime scene was nothing. Obviously he'd been with homicide for long time.

"That sounds about right." Ellison was tough, but the scene bothered him more than the seasoned LAPD detective. Ellison could recall the carnage from the crime scene photos. Homicide was rarely involved in his fields of investigation.

"The victim might have been some kind of female companion - a girlfriend." The detective suggested, trying to impress the agent.

"We can't know that. Not unless we catch him. It's too bad we never got a name other than 'John Doe'." Of course Ellison knew who this 'John Doe' was, but he wasn't going to tell anyone that.

The detective shook his head in agreement, deferring to the FBI agent as if he was much more qualified than himself. "You're probably right. Hope we catch 'em."

"Me too," Ellison half-wished himself.

* * *

John went down to the basement. He found Derek asleep on the raggedy old couch. He heard him mumble something.

Still asleep, Derek mumbled, 'Jess-Jesse'. He almost seemed like he was crying. In fact tears filled his eyelids, slowly leaking out even as he slept.

John repeated "Derek" a few times, each time getting louder. Finally he woke up, reflexively grabbing John's arm in a tight grip.

He blinked a couple times and let go, recognizing and then acknowledging him. "John."

"Derek, are you all right? We're worried about you." John had no idea what he would do if his uncle were to lose his hardened persona or something.

"Uh." Derek looked around at the beer and other alcoholic bottles on the floor around him. "I'm...fine."

"No you're not."

"It's none of your business."

In a manner that in many ways reflected his future self, he strongly rebutted. "Damn right it's my business. You're a soldier from the future sent by me, you're crying in our house, and you're my uncle."

Derek sat up more straight, feeling suddenly a bit as if he were talking to the General. "You're right..."

"So what is it?"

Derek looked down and sighed. "I did something - something terrible." Pausing a moment and gulping, he continued, "My girlfriend died. Only she didn't just die; I...killed her. She was AWOL, from the future."

John's mouth was opened agape. John couldn't imagine the pain Derek was going through, clearly it was something he hadn't wanted to do. All John asked was, "why?"

"You're not going to like this." John waited for him to continue. "She wanted to kill Cameron because her plan with who I gather involved Riley...died," Derek tried to say delicately but straight-forward.

All the dots connected. John now realized where Riley's awkwardness and personality came from. Judgment Day and apocalypse had been her dark troubles. He had always figured it was something bad, but this...this was: damn. After some moments, he asked Derek a question that he feared the answer to, "How long have you known?"

"About Riley? I didn't run into Jesse until a few months ago. She never told me anything - not until Riley died. Yesterday. I didn't know."

John knew his uncle could lie fairly well, but he believed him. He was yet again reminded of the distance loyal people would go for him, even extending that distance to some degree for things such as Cameron. Derek had ensured his girlfriend wouldn't get away with her plans, paying the ultimate price in the process. People dying for him or because of him once again weighed heavily on his mind. John also now knew what those who disagreed with him were capable of. All John could hope is that those kinds of people would be in the minority.

* * *

A/N: As you can probably see, I had a couple gripes with a few details in the series, particularly the unlikely efficacy of a shotgun against terminators. There won't be any of that, I assure you. Also, people bleed when they get shot. Headshots make a mess. That's how it is, and that's how it should be. If it isn't obvious, Ellison isn't working for a company called ZeiraCorp, and Cromartie isn't going to become John Henry. Nothing against BtR, but this fic is not and never will go there. I hope you enjoy it.

I've already written much of Chapter 2. It should be out soon.


	2. Chapter 2

About half a month has passed before the events in this chapter.

* * *

**Late November, 2008**

Having done late night research at the library, Cameron thought she had finally figured out where the terminator she discovered was located. She headed to the Pico Tower building. Arriving at the location, she got out of the Dodge. She grabbed a M79 40mm grenade launcher, a model likely surplus from operations in Vietnam. She also grabbed a FN FAL from the passenger seat, although if the situation was what she expected, it wouldn't do her much good. She entered the building's front entrance and went down the main hall into a large room.

Cameron wasn't quite sure what to expect. The terminator she sought should be deactivated given the theoretical operational lifetime of its power cell. As far as she knew, the standard power cell placed in time-traveling, long-term infiltrators should last a theoretical 80 years assuming maximum efficiency. After that the atomic decay would be too much to still power the terminator's most minimal motor functions. This Myron Stark would have expired about a decade ago, since he was erroneously sent back to 1920.

Cameron explored the room at the end of the main hall, even her quiet footsteps echoing throughout the large room. The room contained a stage and sound equipment, and there was a large area presumably meant for spectators. The sign near the entrance had said Governor Mark Whyman would speak here on New Year's Eve 2010, just over two years away from the current date. Myron Stark's mission likely involved this event, and it was highly likely it would be an assassination - the most common mission for infiltrators sent to the past. Thermal scans of the room yielded no appreciable readings, so Cameron took a different approach. Imagining herself a terminator that wanted to assassinate someone standing up on stage, she tried to recreate a plan. If somehow her power cell lasted that long and was low on power, she would likely choose a stationary hiding spot from which she could shoot. Inside a wall was the only option making any sense, as surprisingly the room lacked any balconies or closets.

Cameron explored the wall, knocking and checking for open cavities larger than the average distance between wall studs. On the second long wall she tried - the one in the back of the room, she finally found a spot. There was a tiny hole in it, but Cameron couldn't make out what was through it, but someone on the other side likely could. It lined up perfectly with the stage.

Assuming the worst, Cameron backed up 15 meters - the minimum arming distance of her 40mm grenades, and then she fired at the suspicious spot on the wall. A hail of drywall, wood splinters, and crimson fleshy materials scattered from the point of impact. Sparks from the explosion on metal could also seen. Pushed backwards and reacting to sudden injury, Myron Stark reactivated. The round had pierced the wall just in front of his thighs. Cameron had strategically aimed at this spot, hoping that if her target were a terminator it would sever its legs or at least damage its feet. Cameron had been right; Stark had fallen back on the ground, his right leg heavily damaged and partially disconnected at the hip joint. It would have likely been both legs had her round been aimed perfectly in the center.

Stark's flesh sheath was heavily disfigured from the mid-torso down. He attempted to pull himself up, but there was little he could do with a single leg. Also, Stark's weapon, a Colt Commando, lay shredded and shattered beside him as he had held it in front of him when he was struck. He was unarmed, not that the wimpy submachine gun would have been of any use. Stark crawled forward and then along the wall to his side, dragging his right leg behind him. The action was futile however, as Cameron ran forward and caught up with him before he had gotten even ten feet. With her knife drawn, Cameron stabbed downward at his chip port, cutting a circle around the spot. Stark protested by grabbing her arms, but his grip was weak, likely a result of his heavily depleted power cell. Cameron ripped his grip away and pushed him downward face-first. She pulled back the cut flesh and soon had his chip in her palm.

Victorious, Cameron pocketed the chip and heaved Stark up over one shoulder, his damaged leg dangling from his ravaged chassis. She placed Stark in the truck bed under the cover and sat in the front seat, depositing her weapons where they previously lay. Cameron still had no idea how Stark could have been operational at all after all this time. Later analysis would have to be done. She drove home.

* * *

John sat up in his room, playing a computer game - Fallout 3. The game was ironic as it was a post-apocalyptic irradiated setting years in the future where the player fights for a better world. All it was missing was a ruthless god-like machine intelligence. The game was totally inaccurate of course but fun nonetheless. As headlights briefly shined through his window, he looked outside. It was dark, but he could see Cameron had drove up in the truck. He saw her go to the back and lift what looked like a man from truck's bed.

"What the hell?" John asked himself out loud.

He went downstairs and through the back door. He headed out toward the shed where a light was on. Inside he saw Cameron looking down at the workbench where a figure lay. John's heart was beating fast at the sight before him. He quickly realized it was a terminator, the extensive lower damage revealing its dull silver chassis with shreds of flesh hanging off. The right leg was mostly disconnected, staying attached only because of some heavy gauge wires and a few ligaments on the back side. It looked like it would fall off at any moment.

Cameron had seen him in the doorway, his mouth open somewhat and still. She merely stared until he looked at her.

"Where the hell did he come from?" John asked.

"I was doing research and unexpectedly came across his photo. I ascertained his whereabouts and took him out."

"What was he doing?"

"His name was Myron Stark. I believe his mission was to assassinate the new governor in two years time."

Surveying the carnage, John asked a more pressing question, "what did you do to him? I've never seen such a mess..."

"I shot him with a high-explosive 40mm grenade."

"Damn!"

Cameron began slicing down the middle of Stark's chest cavity and pulling apart the flesh. She used a modified wrench to unbolt the chest plate with immense strength.

"What're you doing?" John asked, curious.

"Examining his power cell."

"Why? You need one or something?"

"No, he does. He has been operational a decade past his power cell's lifetime."

"What?" John asked, incredulous.

"Somehow Skynet sent him back too early. I want to know how he extended his lifetime."

Cameron pulled off the outer casing on one side. An object the size and shape of an energy drink can could be seen.

John backed up a little. "Uh isn't that dangerous? I mean, it could leak or something..."

"It is still minimally shielded. It is only dangerous in close proximity and for an extended period of exposure."

Cameron placed her finger on the cell for several moments.

"That's odd," Cameron said, tilting her head slightly.

"What is it?"

"The radioactive isotope in his power cell is different. It's Plutonium-238." Cameron fully disconnected the power cell and felt it in her hand for a moment, weighing it. She continued, "It's lighter. He must have refilled it and with only a small amount."

"He can do that?"

"Yes. Long-term infiltrator power cells are radioisotope thermo-electric generators. They draw power through heat from the decay of radioactive materials, however as time goes by the amount of material decreases, eventually - after around eighty years - reaching a point where the TEG cannot generate sufficient power. A high efficiency backup battery, similar to that issued to combat endos, helps compensate, but it only lasts about six months."

John was amazed at her explanation. "So...you'll last 80 years?"

"Yes."

Cameron put the power cell back and re-encased it. She also reattached the thick chest plate. John got closer and looked at the visible internals. Through the mess of sticky blood and disintegrated flesh, he could see pistons and armored wire conduits. He shuddered to think what must have been in the crotch region and was now no longer there. Cameron began preparing thermite.

"You're burning him?"

"Yes."

"Say, when did I start reprogramming these things?"

"I don't know, however I know you reprogrammed T-600s. They were introduced in 2015."

"What if you didn't burn this one? What if we reprogrammed it?"

Cameron looked at him. She had a curious expression on her face and appeared to be thinking for a moment. She hadn't expected any suggestions of the sort from John for years, specifically the year she knew he started reprogramming.

"We'd have to repair his leg. His flesh sheath has taken extensive damage. It will be difficult to heal."

"Don't tell mom about this. Not yet."

"I understand."

* * *

The next day Sarah was extremely tired. For hours she had searched for Skynet clues and came up empty. She had done this daily for two weeks now, finding nothing substantial. It was tempting to go after many things, but paranoia was no substitute for real intelligence. She wasn't getting much sleep; apprehension over a Skynet she couldn't find and thus couldn't destroy wouldn't let her. She sat at the dining room table, her head in her hands with documents and a laptop strewn about the table. She even had an audible police scanner at the other end of the table.

John walked through the room. "Hey mom. Are you all right?"  
"I'm fine - just tired."  
"Cameron and I are running to the store to get some things."  
"Okay, John."

Sarah opened a folder and continued her search.

* * *

They returned to the house, having bought several power tools, wrenches that they would modify, and wire in multiple gauges. They began repairing Stark's leg.

"You need to learn how we work," Cameron said.

"Yeah."

Cameron began explaining the most common join mechanisms as they began to repair Stark's leg. They had to replace the wires that had melted or been shredded by the explosion. Electrically Stark was okay; however, physically he wasn't quite right. His leg was bent slightly and the joints would have issues.

"SkyNet wouldn't go to this much trouble," Cameron said as she jammed Stark's leg back into the socket with lots of pushing and banging.

"But I would," John guessed.

"Yes. You became very good at fixing and then reprogramming terminators. You have also found other uses for their components."

After a long while of pushing and banging, Cameron managed to reattach his leg structurally, but it wouldn't be as good as new. His leg would probably grind a little with use, and the the range of motion had definitely been reduced. Stark would be limited to walking.

John watched Cameron as she stabbed an oil funnel into Stark's stomach.

"What're you doing?" John asked, surprised by the sudden and odd action.

"He needs nourishment. Hold this. Don't let air into his stomach."

John took a hold of the funnel, and waited a couple minutes in this awkward situation while Cameron sprayed the garden house into a large plastic container of whey protein - the kind used to make sports shakes and such. He had wondered what the container had been out here for before, and now he knew the odd application it was meant for. He figured Cameron probably ate the stuff too in the past.

Cameron began pouring the lumpy, barely mixed concoction down the funnel. Stark's stomach expanded as it filled with the substance. Cameron had him pull the funnel out and then used some super glue to close the wound.

"With this he should heal within a couple weeks. He may be deformed."

"Nice. What now?"

"We wait."

* * *

John found his mood greatly improved as he'd been talking to Cameron more often in recent days, despite the odd circumstances of most of their encounters. He regretted that it took Riley's death to get him here, but he had always known he would regret pushing Cameron away. His prior animosity had also been detrimental to his ability to learn valuable information useful to his future self.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the reviews so far. I'm glad to get feedback.

Thanks to m1919 for beta-reading this chapter and the numerous technical discussions we've had in the past. Some technical details have been influenced by ideas he's shared. Check out his writing (if he ever posts any haha).


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